قُلsay لِحُماةِto the champions الحُروبِwars فهرٍFihr
قُل لِحُماةِ الحُروبِ فهرٍ
ماnot لِأَشِدّائِكُمfor your mightiest men يَهوناbe easy
ما لِأَشِدّائِكُم يَهونا
Tell Fihr, the champions of war:
Tell the warmongers, enough!
Say to the guardians of war, the clan of Fihr,
It is no easy matter for your mightiest men.
Why make light of your losses?
"What ails your stalwarts, that they have grown weak?"
جَلَّis great مُصابُthe calamity of العُلاglory وَلكِنbut
جَلَّ مُصابُ العُلا وَلكِن
ماwhatever عَزَّwas hard لاno بُدَّescape أَنthat يَهوناbecome easy
ما عَزَّ لا بُدَّ أَن يَهونا
Great is the calamity that has struck glory, yet
Though high places may crumble,
The calamity of high glory is immense, yet
Whatever is hard must inevitably become easy.
What is mighty will be humbled.
Whatever rises to might must inevitably decline.